


But Why Me?

by TheBraveHobbit



Series: Taut [14]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBraveHobbit/pseuds/TheBraveHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Bahorel is uncomfortable being a role-model for Gavroche<br/>Characters: Bahorel, Jehan, Gavroche<br/>Summary: Who else does Gavroche really have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Why Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my sandbox-style Modern!AU: Taut  
> Additional content can be found on my tumblr: elfjolras.tumblr.com

Bahorel didn’t understand. Why him?

Gavroche had been hanging around the Musain ever since Eponine had started working. It was a convenient place for the kid to be, and though nobody had ever formally agreed to watch him, all the Amis had taken to looking out for the little boy. Courfeyrac had spent hours teaching Gavroche to play poker properly, slipping cards up his sleeves and all. Combeferre would help him with his homework sometimes. Joly had all but kidnapped him that one day, dragging Gavroche to the pharmacy to see Musichetta and to make sure the child had gotten his flu shot.

It should have been Courfeyrac. Or Combeferre. Shit, even Marius was a better role model. Bahorel was a wreck and that kid needed someone who had their life together to look up to. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t any good with kids. He didn’t even like them, generally speaking. So why was this one different? Of all the Amis, why had Gavroche picked him?

“What’s he see in me, anyway?”

—-

“Like this?”

“Sorta.” Bahorel leaned over, gripping Gavroche’s fist to twist it a little. “Don’t hit from that angle. You’ll hurt yourself more than the dude you’re pummeling.”

All the furniture in the living room had been shoved aside, the ratty beanbag chairs and the scuffed coffee table stacked on top of the arm chair and slid as far back as could be managed, the big box television pushed into one corner and the couch shoved into the hallway, fully barricading the path to the bedroom at the back of the apartment. Gavroche and Bahorel stood in the middle of the room, fists raised and feet set. Gav was struggling to keep from bouncing, his enthusiasm was so great.

“Speaking from experience?” Jehan was not participating in the lesson, but she was sprawled precariously on their couch, her bare toes dangling over the arm closest to them. She was supposed to be studying, but her eyes glinted with mischief as she peeked over the top of her textbook.

“Of course.” He answered with a laugh, rocking back on his heels to resume his stance across from Gavroche. “The only source I trust is me.”

“That explains so many things.” She lowered her eyes, apparently back to reading Homer.

Her tone suggested that she had just insulted him, but Bahorel wasn’t sure he quite understood where she had found a fault, so he merely grunted and turned his attention back to Gavroche. “Dukes up.” He instructed.

—-

“You know, normal kids your age throw baseballs.”

“Same difference.”

“It totally isn’t.”

Bahorel sighed, running his hand through the front of his mohawk, fingers catching on the stiff bristles. He didn’t look at the kid sitting beside him, their legs dangling off the fire-escape outside Bahorel’s apartment.

“What’re your parents gonna say?”

Gavroche sneered. “Probably _‘What’s your name, again?’_ ”

Bahorel didn’t have a clue how to respond to that, so he took a long pull from his cigarette instead. ”That window was brand new, kid. Old man Bonhomme literally had it installed last week.”

“So?”

“So you could have gotten in a lot of trouble. He called the fucking cops, man.”

That only made the kid grin, lopsided and mischievous, and full of holes from all the missing teeth.

“Cops don’t scare me. Drag me by my ear back to the house and dump me on those folks again. They never do nothin’. I’m more scared of my sister.”

“You can’t just go around smashing windows.”

“Why not? You tossed a brick through that same one last week.”

“THAT—” Surprised, Bahorel choked on his inhale. Several long minutes passed as he struggled to clear his airways and blink tears from his stinging eyes. He shook his head, uncertain whether he wanted to laugh or scoff. How had Gavroche even known about that? He’d been so careful! “That was different. His son came into my shop for some work, and I heard him talking. He needed to collect on the insurance money to keep the lease on the building. I was doing him a favor.”

Gavroche stared at him, looking rather like an owl with his mouth agape and his eyes so wide.

“But—”

“No, man. You can’t just go vandalizing people’s property willy-nilly like that. Remember, we use our powers for good, not evil. We talked about this after the car.”

Gavroche looked down, fidgeting uncomfortably. He kicked his legs back and forth, squirming and wiggling under the weight of Bahorel’s gaze. They’d had this talk. They’d had this talk time and time again. What was he doing wrong, that his message wasn’t getting through? Gavroche was wild. He was a lost little kid with next to no guidance and Bahorel was just not equipped to deal with him. He’d never been good with kids.

“Fine.” Gavroche said at last, head bent and shoulders slumped. “Whatever you say.”

“Good.”

——

“Kid!” Bahorel released Jehan’s hand as they approached the apartment and knelt so that he was eye level with the urchin that sat shivering on his porch. The pink jacket he’d been wearing all winter was nowhere to be seen, and despite the frigid February weather, Gavroche was wearing nothing but his jeans and a thin t-shirt that was several sizes too large for him. ”What the hell—” Bahorel shucked his jacket and wrapped it around Gavroche. Jehan hurried up to unlock the door and ushered them both inside.

“Why—” Bahorel lifted Gavroche and set him on the counter, rubbing his arms through the giant jacket.

“You were mad, last time.” Gavroche explained, through chattering teeth.

“Last time what?”

“Last time I broke in.”

“Oh, hell.” Bahorel sighed. That was true. Sort of. He’d been more upset about how Gavroche’s presence had ruined the ‘moment’ than that the kid had slipped the lock. Apparently that message had not been clearly communicated. ”Dude, you don’t have to sit on the porch and freeze to death. What if we hadn’t come home tonight?”

“I’d’ve—” He sneezed.

“It’s nearly two A.M.” Jehan said, lifting her hand to Gavroche’s cheek. “God, you’re like ice.”

“What are you even doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t go home. Dad’s violated his parole and they can’t find mom.” the chattering of his teeth lessened as he spoke, but he was still shivering violently. “I didn’t want the bobbies to pick me up. They’ll never bring me back. Eponine an’ ‘zelma is staying with friends but—”

“We’ll figure it out.” Bahorel promised.

—-

“I don’t get it.” Bahorel sighed. “I swear. What the fuck does he even see in me?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jehan tucked the quilt in around Gavroche’s chin. The gamin was fast asleep, mouth gaping as he snored, bundled in borrowed pajamas and cocooned in quilts on the couple’s couch.

“That’s just the problem though, innit?” He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck.

“What do you mean?”

“Stupid. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. He’s stupid. You’re—”

“Don’t you dare call me stupid.”

“—perfect. The word I was going for was ‘perfect’.”

Jehan pursed her lips, discontented with his answer. She checked Gav’s blankets once more, before standing to take Bahorel’s hand and lead him from the living room. “Come on, let’s talk about this somewhere we won’t wake him.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Words weren’t Bahorel’s specialty. They never had been. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue this, though it did bother him that he was decidedly unworthy of Gavroche’s hero-worship. Bahorel wasn’t hero material.

“Yes, we do.” Jehan though, she was good at them. He sighed and sank down on the bed, balancing his chin in his hands.

“I just don’t get it, is all. Of all the folks he could have latched on to. What the hell does he see in me?”

“Simple.” Jehan said, speaking as though she were stating the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re someone worth admiring.”

Bahorel frowned. “I’m a wreck, babe.”

“True.”

He snorted. “Thanks for that. All he’s learning from me is how to hotwire cars and throw bricks through windows and which parts of town are best to graffiti and how to draw tigers with mohawks. Those aren’t life skills.”

“They will be for him.” Bahorel stared. “No, really. Besides, that’s not all he’s learning. We’re all passionate activists bent on changing the state of this shitty world, but if we’re entirely honest, any change that we bring about is not going to be in time to save that little boy. Even if we get our way, he's doomed. He's no better off than us. The deck’s been stacked against him since day one, and he’s growing up hard and he’s growing up fast. He needs guidance, but not by clever Combeferre and not by charming Courfeyrac and not even by me.” Jehan sat beside him and balanced her chin on his shoulder, running her fingers around his waist. “He looks up to you because you’re someone who understands surviving, but you can still smile. You smile more than anyone I know. He looks up to you because you know life is tough, but you have a good heart. There’s so much that you do right by that little boy. Don’t doubt yourself. He needs you.”

“You’re a sap.” but he was smiling.

“I’m also right.”


End file.
